Anonymous Story: Smile!

Anonymous Story: Smile!

I still think of his smile. Something about the way it curved slightly upwards, knowingly. I remember the first time I saw it. It was such a confident smile, and after a brief moment of eye contact with him, it was obvious that he was aware of the effect it had on people. I blushed, embarrassed that he noticed. That fucking smile. “What if?” I thought. “What if a guy like him would genuinely go for a girl like me?” And he did. He snapchatted me the next day, cocky smirk on full display, and immediately I was sucked in to the fantasy of sharing a mutual attraction with a guy who seemed to be so much more than me. He could’ve just as easily chosen to flirt with someone funnier, friendlier, sexier than me. But he smiled at me. It wasn’t long until I drove to his house in the middle of the night. Enveloped by darkness, I was confident: he couldn’t see me well enough to know that surely, he could do better. I sat on his bed, anticipation making me sweat. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I looked up at him. “Friends” was on, and it was obvious that he found it quite amusing. I glanced over at him as he laughed: up close, his smile seemed so genuine, so welcoming. When we finally kissed, I felt safe. The wandering of his hands made me nervous, but the good nervous. I wanted this. His strong arms flipped me over, and now sprawled out on his bed, I was made aware of his strength. He had such strong hands. Smiling, he grabbed my face. His was nose scrunched, his face filled with pure animal sexuality. “Look at me,” he commanded. My stomach flipped, in a different way this time, but willingly, I obliged. I watched as sense of excitement emerged in his smile, and he sped things up. “I don’t want to have sex with you,” I added, sheepishly. Just in case. He smiled, but rolled his eyes. Moving closer, he pinned my hands behind my head. That’s when I felt it. Panicked, I shifted my hips backwards. Maybe it was an accident? I felt it again, this time a little bit further. My heart pounding rapidly, I was able to gently wriggle my hands out of his expert grip and I pushed back, lightly. Again, he thrusted, so I pushed back harder. My heart crashed against my chest. Horrified, I whispered “stop.” He was perfect…he didn’t mean to hurt me. I looked up at his face, expecting to be reassured by that smile that I had come to be so drawn to. This time though, it seemed to be mocking me. He stopped, and slowly bent down to whisper in my ear. “You think this is sex?” He was right. Of course this isn’t sex. I told him I didn’t want to, and he heard me. This was something else, it had to be something else. He continued. “You like that?” he asked. Now paralyzed, I looked up, once again greeted with a mocking smile twisting up his face. I stared blankly. He repeated himself, eyes questioning me. I nodded, hot tears pooling in my eyes. Once it was over, I got up immediately. Gathering as many articles of clothing off the floor as I could, I dressed myself hurriedly and carelessly. Noticing this, he got up, grabbing my arm. An innocent smile now appeared on his face. “Stay?” he asked coyly. “It’s late,” I remarked, moving towards the door. He smiled, and I looked away. Somehow, it had a different meaning now. Grabbing my hips, he pulled me in for a kiss, and then pulled away. “Drive safe.” I ran up the stairs, eyes wide open, my whole body tingling. I got home, walked quietly up the stairs, and sat in my bed. Checking my phone, I noticed a Snapchat from him. I opened it, perhaps in denial, hoping that what happened was a dream and I’d just woken up to a good morning message from him. It was a picture of him in the mirror, my underwear in hand, smiling. “You’re gonna have to come back and get these,” it read. Tears now streaming down my face, I wiped my eyes and responded back, smiling: “Maybe I will.” It’s too late now, too late to feel anything about what he did to me that night. I’m not even sure if he knows what he did to me.
Everyday, I see him, his cocky, knowing, powerful smile. Everyday, I smile back. What can a girl like me do but acknowledge him? That perfect hair, his bright eyes, and That. Fucking. Smile.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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